


mightier than the sword

by twelveam



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Gen, Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelveam/pseuds/twelveam
Summary: penn dodges fate. destiny has already swallowed their shadow.or: local trainer spends their life ducking from the unforgiving claws of the heroic tale they were meant to star in.
Kudos: 6





	1. legend

[Opening a window lets night come creeping in. If you leave one open, it'll make you sleepy.]

* * *

.

Penn steps out of the house as the last of the sun's golden rays warm the earth. The flowers on the porch are painfully delicate between their fingers, petals pale and withering. The tightness in their chest doesn't leave, only intensifies as they move to step off the porch, leaving the flowers behind.

Their mouth moves silently ( _aconitum-anthurium-azalea_ ) as they work their way around the house keeping an eye out for people. Softly and with a great deal of care ( _belladonna-bloodflower-caladium_ ) they slip through the back gate and into the trees beyond.

Penn doesn't have anything on them but a change of clothes, a card the local bank finalized just yesterday, and their trainer gear. Foxglove's pokeball is a reassuring weight in the palm of their hand and they roll it between their fingers as they walk.

On the desk in the small room they've left behind is a card with a sprig of wisteria tied neatly to its front. The note inside is brief and their mother will run her fingers over the words for a single, silent moment. Then she will smile and open the desk drawer, drop the card neatly on the stack of notebooks already there and carry them all out with the ghost of a smile on her face.

Penn can see it as clearly as they can see the coming argument, the whirlwind words and terrible bellowing. The cold silence afterwards. The breaking glass and slammed door, the emptiness that fills the house.

But. But their mother will be fine. After all, her bags are already packed and the ticket bought. By morning there will be boxes of Penn's belongings beside hers on the moving truck and when the sun sets again tomorrow the house will be empty and they will never be found again.

They will be free, both of them.

The light is already there on the horizon and Penn walks forward, through the stinging in their eyes and the squeezing in their chest. They'll walk until they reach the closest route and beyond that the ocean and beyond that the taste of sweetness on their tongue and a home filled with flowers.

The last of the sunlight filters in through the trees and Penn tilts their head up to meet the warmth. By the time the light fades away they are gone, disappeared into the shadows.

.

* * *

.

Nightshade comes to them on silent wings. He lands neatly beside them and hops into their lap, fluffed up and already drowsy. Penn runs slow fingers through his feathers and he melts, curls into a small ball and settles down to sleep. The moon is halved now and Penn is home, waves lapping at their feet and the perfume of flowers heavy in the air.

This is home.

The house is just a short walk away and their mother still hasn't unpacked the boxes. She's picked up a stray meowth, a clever little kitty who keeps her company and fills the room with content purring when the sunshine is warm enough to nap in.

Here in Alola the sunshine is _always_ warm enough to nap in. There are flowers growing on the porch, not crowded in a pot too small for them but twining through the wood itself. They spend a whole afternoon watering them, finding the nooks and crannies where strange blooms hid themselves, flowering under moonlight. The petals are waxy and soft, glowing with health.

There is a garden in the back, wild and overgrown. Their mothers smile comes back to life with a vengeance and she glows, brown hair tied back and arms full of growing things. Penn thinks she'll be alright now, with company and things to coax into blooming.

Nightshade hoots in his sleep and Foxglove pads over from his hiding place to nudge into their lap. The night settles on the odd group like a cloak, carrying safety and the silken touch of darkness.

They know what will happen now.

Penn will write another card and leave delphiniums beside it, and this time they will leave in the morning. Their mother will stand at the door while the sky is still purple, fighting a yawn, sleepy but determined to see them off. She will press a soft kiss against their forehead and tell them to find their way home someday, to not worry anymore. To look forward to seeing the garden when they return.

Penn will leave the small house hidden away from the world. They'll leave the moon flowers and their mother behind, and climb over the craggy boulders to the other side, following the scent of the ocean and flowers.

They'll leave and won't come back until they've seen the world, until they've sunk their fingers into the velvet softness of the night sky and thanked the moon for being their kindest guide. They won't come back until they've tasted the sun's heat and thanked it for being their fiercest guard.

They won't come back until they're ready but when they do, there will be flowers growing on the porch and a blue watering can beside them. There will be a house tucked away near the ocean and a beach where the waves are always gentle. There will be mother, with a smile that has grown familiar and a brightness that will never dim.

There will be home to come back to.

.

* * *

.

( _Delphinium-dogbane-euphorbia_ )

There is a presence here like a storm.

( _Goldenseal-henbane-hyacinth_ )

There is a presence here like leashed lightning and shock scorched earth, like trees struck down in a flash and yellow fire.

( _Horsenettle…)_

 _(Horsenettle-hydrangea-iris_ )

Penn's teeth have already dug a half circle into their bottom lip and their hands are shaking. Their mouth moves and moves and no sound leaves, but the shape of the words is familiar and the taste of blood in their mouth fades away.

( _Laceflower-lantana-lobelia_ )

When they open their eyes it's still there, watching.

They've already sent the girl and her strange pokemon away and now they sit in silence, the island's Tapu just a stone throw away. Nightshade and Foxglove are safe in their pokeballs but the nervous little rotom in their dex has nowhere to hide but their bag. It buzzes gently in an attempt to soothe but is clever enough not to come out.

Penn doesn't want the Tapu to think they are interested in any sort of battle. They're still catching their breath from a fall that should've killed them and still controlling the tremors that come with having been touched with the electricity of a guardian. A guardian that even now watches with sharp eyes and an interest that doesn't bode well for them at all.

The words are a beating drum at the back of their mind.

( _\- and the legend-touched never return whole, never return human, empty by measures, in pieces, in pieces, in pieces -_ )

Penn's voice is barely more than a faint whisper when they speak, forcing the words past the barrier of their throat to vibrate in the air.

"Thank you," they say.

The guardian leans forward and golden light flashes brightly. Penn opens stinging eyes to find it gone and a warm stone tucked into their palm. The air feels like a summer storm now, heavy with the promise of warm rain and a kinder energy. Less destructive and more…energetic.

( _\- and the legend-touched lose themselves in the beyond, pieces scattered like glass shards, they come home broken and bleeding but cannot remember what pain ever felt like -_ )

Penn drags themself up to their feet and take the slow meandering path back down to Iki. They slip out of the trees and into the crowd without a trace, choosing to leave behind the girl and her nebula pokemon behind. They have a sharp need to be alone and a frazzled rotom that needs to be calmed.

( _\- and the legend-touched are never released, never free, called again and again and again until there is nothing left to call, until they have become something beyond themselves, until they are lost forever and forever lost -_ )

Everything else can wait.

( _Maikoa-moleplant-monkshood_ )

.

* * *

.

There's a kid with blue hair.

There's another kid with hair just a shade darker and he's halfway up a tree, clinging to the wood as a crabrawler snaps threateningly up at him.

Laughter bubbles up and crests like a wave and underneath snapping voices and sarcasm there is warmth settled between them like the sunrise.

.

* * *

.

The first trial captain has glittering eyes.

There's a shimmer to him and for a moment Penn thinks he's been marked too but no. It's just talent and the kind of fierce energy that marks a true battler. He's polished and neat but for all that his eyes look placid, like calm pools of water, there's a river's rage rushing under the glass surface.

He challenges them to a battle in front of the malasada shop and the silk of him turns to steel. The battle is _hard_. There is no movement of his that is wasted and his pokemon fight for him until the very end. When it's over he props his hands on his hips and surveys them with sharp eyes and a pleased smile. He's breathing hard, just a little, and the satisfaction bleeding off him is heavy.

Penn gathers Foxglove into their arms and Nightshade settles into the small nest they've made for him in their pack, pleased with himself. Captain Ilima watches this all with a gleam in his eye and walks them to the pokecenter, striking up conversation and not minding their nonverbal replies.

Once there, Penn makes a beeline to the plush seats near the windows and chooses a seat in a quiet corner. Ilima watches them go silently and doesn't intrude. Once they settle they unpack their refresh kit item by item, until everything is lined up neatly before them on the low table nearby.

Foxglove is first and he topples into their lap and nips playfully while Penn runs careful hands over his body before picking up the comb. He settles then, content to be cared for as Penn brushes his fur to smoothness and heals his scrapes. The red patches of fur gleam bright against blue-touched black of his coat and Foxglove preens at the attention.

Nightshade, on the other hand, requires treats. He stays still while Penn inspects him but once they're done he sticks his head into one of the bag's pockets and nibbles on whatever snacks he finds. His feathers are easy to neaten and he settles easily back into his nest when he's done being groomed.

Penn's shoulders unwind as they repack and put the kit away, after battle ritual complete. Ilima takes this as an invitation and strides over, balancing two mugs of Tapu Cocoa and a platter of baked goods. They make space for him at the table and he sits, gestures gracefully at the food with a smile that grows into a grin when Penn's stomach rumbles almost on cue.

Nightshade gives a concerned hoot while Foxglove hides a foxy grin, muffling laughter into the thick scarf-like fur at his throat. Penn simply holds the muffins out of his reach and eats, savoring the sweetness. Rotom pops up to ask Ilima about the painted gates and his work as captain and they all listen to him ramble.

Next morning, Penn will attempt the trial. They hide a smile behind their mug as Ilima talks about crystals and training with the same kind of rushing passion he displayed in battle. They look forward to seeing what kind of challenge he's created.

.

* * *

.


	2. drain

.

**drain**

.

 **{** become progressively less strongly felt **}**

.

The expectations come faster this time. It's expected. This is somewhere into your thirteenth or thirtieth run and at this point you've started to forgo subtlety.

It still hits you hard, the progression from _oh dear you'll make a wonderful trainer won't you?_ to _nothing less than a championship understand?_ The unspoken message is to not mess this up, even as the pressure carves valleys out of your chest until you cave in on yourself.

Nothing less than a championship. Nothing less than a legend, lined in gold, haloed in silver, gleaming. The red bitten lips and wild eyes smoothed out, hands curled to claws held open, palm up. This is what heroes do. This is what legends are, all-encompassing, throat bared in challenge, in sacrifice, untouchable, inhuman. Giving. Giving everything.

This is your thirteenth run or your thirtieth. You're going to walk out of your house tomorrow and you will not falter once in your steps. You have a compass set up like a hook in your gut, wickedly curved and cutting you open everytime it pulls you in. The compass leads to Death or Despair or Destruction. It rests in a cocoon, pulsing red and waiting, waiting for you to break it open and let it loose on the world. You know this. You do.

But for now you're just a kid, scraped knees, wide eyes, the world on your shoulders shattering into fragments heavier than the whole. And everyone believes you’re going to come home.

.

* * *

.

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of my favorite works & i've been on a pokemon kick lately so i'll be writing more of it !


End file.
